The Fixer (27 page)
Authors: Bernard Malamud
“Remove your cap,” said the warden, standing in his cell.
He removed his cap, and the warden handed him a sheaf of papers.
“It's your indictment, Bok, but that doesn't mean your trial is necessarily on its way.”
Afterwards, crouched on his stool in chains, Yakov very slowly read the papers. His heart raced as he read but the mind ran ahead of the heart; this Jew they were talking about had committed a terrible crime and then stepped into a trap, and at once the prisoner saw him dead and buried in a thin grave. Sometimes the words on the paper grew blurred and disappeared under water. When they rose to the surface he read them one by one, saying each aloud. After reading three pages he hadn't the strength to concentrate longer. The papers weighed like oakwood and he had to put them down. Soon, though the barred window was still lit, it was too dark to read. At night he awoke famished to devour the words. He thought of begging Kogin for a candle but had visions of the paper catching fire and burning. So he waited for morning, once dreaming he was trying to read the indictment but the language was Turkish. Then he awoke and frantically felt for the papers. They were in his
greatcoat pocket. He waited impatiently for daylight. In the morning, when there was enough light the fixer avidly read through the whole document. It seemed to him that the story had changed from how he read it yesterday, but then he realized it had changed from how he knew it as he had pieced it together from the questions he had been asked, and the accusations that had been made. The crime was the same but there were details that he had not heard before, some fantastic ones; and some of the old ones had been altered and a new mystery created. Yakov read, straining to find a combination of facts that would make them, by virtue of this arrangement, truer than they were when he first heard them; or as though, if he comprehended them in some way others did not, he would at once establish his innocence. And once he established it they would have to release him from his chains and open the prison doors.
greatcoat pocket. He waited impatiently for daylight. In the morning, when there was enough light the fixer avidly read through the whole document. It seemed to him that the story had changed from how he read it yesterday, but then he realized it had changed from how he knew it as he had pieced it together from the questions he had been asked, and the accusations that had been made. The crime was the same but there were details that he had not heard before, some fantastic ones; and some of the old ones had been altered and a new mystery created. Yakov read, straining to find a combination of facts that would make them, by virtue of this arrangement, truer than they were when he first heard them; or as though, if he comprehended them in some way others did not, he would at once establish his innocence. And once he established it they would have to release him from his chains and open the prison doors.
This “Court Indictment,” typed on long sheets of blue paper, retold the murder of Zhenia Golov, much as Yakov knew it, but now the number of wounds was unaccountably forty-five, “3 groups of 13, plus 2 additional groups of 3.” There were wounds, the paper said, on the boy's chest, throat, face, and skullâ“around the ears”; and the autopsy performed by Professor M. Zagreb of the Medical Faculty of Kiev University, indicated that all the wounds had been inflicted on the body when the boy's heart was still strong. “But those in the principal veins of the neck had been inflicted when the heart was weakening.”
On the day the boy was found murdered in the cave, his mother, when she heard the news, fainted. This had been noted on the police record of the case. Then came some details Yakov read quickly but had to go back and read slowly. The collapse of Marfa Golov, the indictment said, “was noted here with particular interest” because it was later observed that she was composed at the funeral and did not weep at her son's burial, although
others, “mere strangers,” had wept without restraint. Some “well-meaning spectators” and others “perhaps not so well-meaning,” were disturbed by this, and “foolish rumors” began at once to circulate “concerning the possible involvement of this good woman, through a former and seriously incapacitated friend, in the murder of her own child.” Because of this baseless rumor, but in the interests of arriving at the truth, she was arrested and thoroughly investigated by the police. They searched her house more than once and found “nothing in the least incriminating.” Thus, after days of painstaking investigation she was released with the apologies of the police and other officials. The Chief of Police concluded that the rumors previously referred to were false and unfounded, “probably the invention of the enemies of Marfa Golov, or possibly of certain sinister forces,” for Marfa Golov was a devoted mother, “blameless of any crime against her child.” Such suspicion was contemptible. Her composed behavior at her son's funeral was the “behavior of a dignified person in control of her sentiments although involved in a profound personal loss.” For “not all who are sad, weep” and “guilt is not a matter of facial expression but of evidence.” “How much this unfortunate woman had mourned and endured
prior
to the child's funeral no one had inquired.” However, witnesses had testified that Marfa Golov had been a more than ordinarily conscientious mother, and a “hardworking virtuous woman of unstained character, who without any assistance to speak of, had provided for her child since the desertion and death of the irresponsible father.” It was therefore concluded that the attempts to destroy her reputation were “the work of unknown subversive alien groups” for the purpose of “concealing the guilt of one of its members, the true murderer of Zhenia Golov, the jack-of-all-trades, Yakov Bok.”
others, “mere strangers,” had wept without restraint. Some “well-meaning spectators” and others “perhaps not so well-meaning,” were disturbed by this, and “foolish rumors” began at once to circulate “concerning the possible involvement of this good woman, through a former and seriously incapacitated friend, in the murder of her own child.” Because of this baseless rumor, but in the interests of arriving at the truth, she was arrested and thoroughly investigated by the police. They searched her house more than once and found “nothing in the least incriminating.” Thus, after days of painstaking investigation she was released with the apologies of the police and other officials. The Chief of Police concluded that the rumors previously referred to were false and unfounded, “probably the invention of the enemies of Marfa Golov, or possibly of certain sinister forces,” for Marfa Golov was a devoted mother, “blameless of any crime against her child.” Such suspicion was contemptible. Her composed behavior at her son's funeral was the “behavior of a dignified person in control of her sentiments although involved in a profound personal loss.” For “not all who are sad, weep” and “guilt is not a matter of facial expression but of evidence.” “How much this unfortunate woman had mourned and endured
prior
to the child's funeral no one had inquired.” However, witnesses had testified that Marfa Golov had been a more than ordinarily conscientious mother, and a “hardworking virtuous woman of unstained character, who without any assistance to speak of, had provided for her child since the desertion and death of the irresponsible father.” It was therefore concluded that the attempts to destroy her reputation were “the work of unknown subversive alien groups” for the purpose of “concealing the guilt of one of its members, the true murderer of Zhenia Golov, the jack-of-all-trades, Yakov Bok.”
“Vey is mir,” said Yakov.
The fixer had been suspected from the beginning.
Even before the funeral, rumors had begun to fly through the city that “the real culprit responsible for the murder of the boy was a member of the Hebrew faith.” Then came a summary of reasons why Bok had come to the attention of the police “as a suspicious person”: First, because it had come out he was a Hebrew using a false name and living in the Lukianovsky District, a district forbidden by special law to all members of his faith except Merchants of the First Guild and some professionals. Second, while representing himself as a Russian, one Yakov Ivanovitch Dologushev, this same Yakov Bok had made improper advances, and even attempted physical assault of Zinaida Nikolaevna, the daughter of Bok's employer, Nikolai Maximovitch Lebedev. “By good fortune she thwarted his nefarious purposes.” Third, Yakov Bok was suspected by certain of his fellow employees at the brickworks, in particular “the observant foreman Proshko,” of systematically peculating from funds belonging to the business enterprise of Nikolai Maximovitch Lebedev. Fourth, he was seen on certain occasions by the yardkeeper Skobeliev, the foreman Proshko, and “other witnesses,” chasing boys in the brickyard, near the kilns. These were Vasya Shiskovsky, Andrei Khototov, the deceased Zhenia Golov, and other even younger children, all of them boys. And fifth, Zhenia Golov had one night been pursued among the tombstones in the cemetery close to the brickyard by the same Yakov Bok “clasping in his hand a long thin carpenter's knife.” The frightened boy had related this to his mother. In Bok's living quarters in the stable the po-. lice had unearthed his bag of tools, which included “certain bloodstained awls and knives.” Some bloody rags also were recovered in this room.
The fixer sighed and went on reading.
“In addition to the above-listed evidence, Marfa Golov has testified that Zhenia complained Yakov Bok had interfered with him sexually and had feared the boy would expose him to the authorities.” “Zhenia, a bright and perceptive lad,” had “on certain occasions” followed Bok and discovered that he sometimes met “with a group of other Hebrews, suspected smugglers, housebreakers, and other criminal elements, in the cellar of the synagogue.” Her son, according to the mother, threatened to report these illegal activities to the police. Furthermore, Vasya Shiskovsky and Zhenia Golov had once or twice “in the manner of boys,” angered Bok by flinging rocks at him and taunting him about his race, and he was determined to take revenge on them. “Zhenia Golov, to his great misfortune, was the one who had fallen into Bok's evil hands, but by great good luck Vasya Shiskovsky had escaped his poor friend's fate.”
He read quickly through the section where he had killed the boy. (“Skobeliev testified that he had seen Bok carrying something heavy in his arms, a large squirming package of some sort that resembled a human body, up the stairs to his quarters. There, the evidence is clear, the boy was tortured and then murdered by Yakov Bok, probably with the assistance of one or two of his coreligionists.”) “While in prison,” the indictment went on, “the said Yakov Bok had attempted to influence the counterfeiter Gronfein, a friend and fellow religionist, to bribe Marfa Golov not to testify against him. The sum of money for that purpose was to be raised by subscription in the Hebrew communities of the Jewish Pale of Settlement. Another bribe was offered to Marfa Golov herself at a later date, the large sum of 40,000 rubles if she would flee across the Austrian border, but she indignantly refused.”
The last paragraph read: “It is therefore the fully considered opinion of the Investigating Magistrate, the
Prosecuting Attorney, and the President of the Superior Court of the Kiev Province, where the Court Indictment is this day filed, that Yakov Bok, an admitted Hebrew, had with premeditation, and for purposes of torture and murder, stabbed to death Yevgeny Golov, age 12, the beloved son of Marfa Vladimirovna Golov, for the reasons stated above; in sum, an overweening and abnormal desire for revenge against an innocent child who had discovered his participation in criminal activities. However, the crime was so wicked and debased that an additional element may be said to have been present. Only a criminal of the worst sadistic instincts could have engaged in such an unnatural act of unprovoked hostility and degraded bestiality.”
Prosecuting Attorney, and the President of the Superior Court of the Kiev Province, where the Court Indictment is this day filed, that Yakov Bok, an admitted Hebrew, had with premeditation, and for purposes of torture and murder, stabbed to death Yevgeny Golov, age 12, the beloved son of Marfa Vladimirovna Golov, for the reasons stated above; in sum, an overweening and abnormal desire for revenge against an innocent child who had discovered his participation in criminal activities. However, the crime was so wicked and debased that an additional element may be said to have been present. Only a criminal of the worst sadistic instincts could have engaged in such an unnatural act of unprovoked hostility and degraded bestiality.”
The indictment was signed by Yefim Balik, Investigating Magistrate; V. G. Grubeshov, Prosecuting Attorney; and P. F. Furmanov, President of the Superior Court.
Yakov squeezed his throbbing head after reading the papers. Though his eyes achedâhe felt as though he had read the words through sand and glueâhe at once reread them, and again, in increasing astonishment and disbelief. What had happened to the charge of ritual murder? Holding each sheet up for better light he searched it in vain. There was no such charge. Every reference to a religious crime, though hinted at, led up to, had in the end been omitted. The Jews had become Hebrews. Why? The only reason he could think of was that they could not prove a charge of ritual murder. And if they couldn't prove that, what could they prove? Not these stupid lies, vile, ridiculous, some snipped directly out of Marfa's insane letter. They can't prove a thing, he thought, that's why they've kept me in solitary imprisonment for almost two years. They know the mother and her lover murdered the boy. He fought a deepening depression. With this “evidence” they'll never bring me
to trial. The weakness of the indictment showed they had no intention to.
to trial. The weakness of the indictment showed they had no intention to.
Still it was an indictment and he was wondering if they would now let him see a lawyer, when the warden appeared again in the cell and ordered him to hand over the papers.
“You may not believe this, Bok, but they were issued through an administrative error. I was supposed to look them over but not give them to you.”
They're afraid of the trial, the fixer thought bitterly, after the warden had left: Maybe people are asking when it will begin. Maybe this has them worried. If I live, sooner or later they'll have to bring me to trial. If not Nicholas the Second, then Nicholas the Third will.
When his chains were unlocked and he was permitted to lie on his bedbench as long as he liked with his legs free, or to walk around, he could not comprehend what had happened and for a while suffered from excitement. Yakov limped around the cell but mostly lay, breathing through his mouth, on the wooden bed. “Is it another indictment, or maybe is the trial coming?” he asked Berezhinsky, but the guard wouldn't say. One day the fixer's hair was trimmed a bit and the beard combed. The barber, glancing stealthily at a yellowed photograph in his tunic pocket, combed out curls over his ears. He was then given another suit of prison clothes, permitted to wash his hands and face with soap, and called to the warden's office.
Berezhinsky pushed him out into the hall and commanded him to move along, but the prisoner limped slowly, stopping often to recover his breath. The guard prodded him with his rifle butt, then the fixer ran a step
and limped two. He worried how he would make it back to the cell.
and limped two. He worried how he would make it back to the cell.
“Your wife is here,” said Warden Grizitskoy, in his office. “You can see her in the visitors' room. There'll be a guard present, so don't presume any privileges.”
He felt, in towering astonishment, this could not be true, they were deceiving him to extend the torture. And when, as he watched the warden and guard, he believed it, the fixer gasped as though fire had scorched his lungs. When he could breathe he was frightened.
“My wife?”
“Raisl Bok?”
“It's true.”
“You'll be allowed to speak to her for several minutes in the visitors' room, but watch your step.”
“Please, not now,” said Yakov wearily. “Some other time.”
“That'll do,” said the warden.
The fixer, shaken, upset, his thoughts in turmoil, was led in a limping trot by Berezhinsky through a series of narrow corridors to the prisoners' pen in the visitors' room. At the door Yakov tried to straighten himself, entered, and was locked in. It's a trick, he thought, it's not her, it's a spy. I must be careful.
She sat on a bench, separated from him by a heavy wire grating. On the far side of the bare-walled boxlike room, a uniformed guard stood behind her, his rifle resting against the wall, slowly rolling a cigarette.
Yakov sat stiffly opposite her, hunched cold, his throat aching, palms clammy. He felt a dread of cracking up, going mad in front of herâof will failing him once they talked and how would he go on after that?
“Get along with your business,” said the guard in Russian.
Though the visitors' room was dimly lit it was brighter than his cell, and the light hurt his eyes before
he could get used to it. The woman sat motionless, her coat threadbare, a wool shawl covering her head, her fingers clasped like spikes in her lap. She was watching him mutely, eyes stricken. He had expected a hag, but though she was worn, tensely embarrassed, and had abandoned the wig she had never liked to wear, she looked otherwise the same, surprising how young though he knew she was thirty, and not bad as a woman. It's at my expense, he thought bitterly.
he could get used to it. The woman sat motionless, her coat threadbare, a wool shawl covering her head, her fingers clasped like spikes in her lap. She was watching him mutely, eyes stricken. He had expected a hag, but though she was worn, tensely embarrassed, and had abandoned the wig she had never liked to wear, she looked otherwise the same, surprising how young though he knew she was thirty, and not bad as a woman. It's at my expense, he thought bitterly.
“Yakov?”
“Raisl?”
“Yes.”
As she unwound her shawlâher own dark hair cut short, the hairline dampâand he looked fully into her face, at the long exposed neck, both eyes sad, she was staring at him with fright and feeling. He tried twice to speak and could not. His face ached and mouth trembled.
“I know, Yakov,” Raisl said. “What more can I say? I know.”
Emotion blinded him.
My God, what have I forgotten? I've forgotten nothing. He experienced a depth of loss and shame, overwhelmingâthat the feelings of the past could still be alive after so long and terrible an imprisonment. The deepest wounds never die.
“Yakov, is it really you?”
He shook away the beginning of tears and turned his good ear to her.
“It's me. Who else could it be?”
“How strange you look in earlocks and long beard.”
“That's their evidence against me.”
“How thin you are, how withered.”
“I'm thin,” he said, “I'm withered. What do you want from me?”
“They forbade me to ask you any questions about
your conditions in this prison,” Raisl said in Yiddish, “and I promised not to but who has to ask? I have eyes and can see. I wish I couldn't. Oh, Yakov, what have they done to you? What did you do to yourself? How did such a terrible thing happen?”
your conditions in this prison,” Raisl said in Yiddish, “and I promised not to but who has to ask? I have eyes and can see. I wish I couldn't. Oh, Yakov, what have they done to you? What did you do to yourself? How did such a terrible thing happen?”
“You stinking whore, what did
you
do to me? It wasn't enough we were poor as dirt and childless. On top of that you had to be a whore.”
you
do to me? It wasn't enough we were poor as dirt and childless. On top of that you had to be a whore.”
She said tonelessly, “It's not what I alone did, it's what we did to each other. Did you love me? Did I love you? I say yes and I say no. As for being a whore, if I was I'm not. I've had my ups and downs, the same as you, Yakov, but if you're going to judge me you'll have to judge me as I am.”
“What are you?”
“Whatever I am I'm not what I was.”
“Why did you marry me for I'd like to know? âLove,' she says. If you didn't love me why didn't you leave me alone?”
“You can believe me I was afraid to marry you, but you were affectionate then, and when a person is lonely it's easy to lean toward a tender word. Also I thought you loved me although you found it hard to say so.”
“What can a man say if he's afraid of a trap? I was afraid of you. I never met anybody so dissatisfied. I am a limited man. What could I promise you? Besides that, your father was behind me, pushing with both hands: If I married you the world would change, everyday a rainbow. Then you got me in the woods that day.”
“We were to the woods more than once. You wanted what I wanted. It takes two to lie down, one on top of the other.”
“So we got married,” he said bitterly. “Still, we had a chance. Once we were married you should have been faithful. A contract is a contract. A wife is a wife. Married is married.”
“Were you such a fine husband?” Raisl said. “Yes, you always tried to make a living, I won't say no, though you never did. And if you wanted to stay up all night reading Spinoza I had nothing against that either, though it wasn't Torah, except when it was at my expense, and you know what I mean. What bothered me most were the curses and dirty names. Because I slept with you before we were married you were convinced I was sleeping with the world. I slept with no one but you until you stopped sleeping with me. At twenty-eight I was too young for the grave. So, as you advised, I stopped being superstitious and at last took a chance. Otherwise I would soon have been dead. I was barren. I ran in every direction. I flung myself against trees. I tore at my dry breasts and cursed my empty womb. Whether I stayed or left I was useless to you, so I decided to leave. You wouldn't so I had to. I left in desperation to change my life. I got out the only way I could. It was either that or death, one sin or worse. I chose the lesser sin. If you want to know the truth, Yakov, one reason I left was to make you move. Whoever thought it would come to this?”
She cracked her white knuckles against her chest. “Yakov, I didn't come here to fight about the past. Forgive me, forgive the past.”
“Why did you come?”
“Papa said he saw you in prison, it's all he talks about. I went back to the shtetl last November. I was first in Kharkov, then in Moscow, but couldn't get along any more, so I had to go back. When I found out you were in Kiev Prison I came to see you but they wouldn't let me in. Then I went to the Prosecuting Attorney and showed him the papers that I was your wife. He said I couldn't see you except under the most extraordinary circumstances, and I said the circumstances were extraordinary enough when an innocent man is kept in prison. I went to see him at least five times and finally he said he would
let me in if I brought you a paper to sign. He told me to urge you to sign it.”
let me in if I brought you a paper to sign. He told me to urge you to sign it.”
“A black year on his papers to sign. A black year on you for bringing it.”
“Yakov, if you sign you can go free tomorrow. It's at least something to think about.”
“I've thought,” he shouted. “It's nothing to think about. I'm innocent.”
Raisl stared at him mutely.
The guard came over with his rifle. “Nobody's supposed to be talking Yiddish here,” he said. “You're supposed to be talking Russian. This prison is a Russian institution.”
“It takes longer in Russian,” she said. “I speak very slowly in Russian.”
“Hurry up with the paper you're supposed to give him.”
“The paper has to be explained. There are advantages but there are also disadvantages. I have to tell him what the Prosecuting Attorney said.”
“Then tell him, for Christ's sake, and be done with it.”
Taking a small key out of his pants pocket, he unlocked a small wire door in the grating.
“Don't try to pass anything but the paper he has to sign or it'll go hard on you both. I've got my eyes wide open.”
Raisl unclasped a grayed cloth handbag and took out a folded envelope.
“This is the paper I promised I would give you,” she said in Russian to Yakov. “The Prosecuting Attorney says it's your last chance.”
“So that's why you came,” he said in vehement Yiddish, “to get me to confess lies I've resisted for two years. To betray me again.”
“It was the only way I could get in,” Raisl said. “But it's not why I came, I came to cry.” She gasped a little.
Her mouth fell open, the lips contorted; she wept. Tears flowed through her fingers as she pressed them to her eyes. Her shoulders shook.
Her mouth fell open, the lips contorted; she wept. Tears flowed through her fingers as she pressed them to her eyes. Her shoulders shook.
He felt, as he watched her, the weight of the blood in his heart.
The guard rolled another cigarette, lit it, and smoked slowly.
This is where we left off, thought Yakov. The last time I saw her she was crying like this, and here she is still crying. In the meantime I've been two years in prison without cause, in solitary confinement, and chains. I've suffered freezing cold, filth, lice, the degradation of those searches, and she's still crying.
“What are you crying for?” he asked.
“For you, for me, for the world.”
She was as she wept, a frail woman, lanky, small-breasted, worn and sad. Who would have thought so frail? As she wept she moved him. He had learned about tears.
“What's there to do here but think, so I've thought,” Yakov said after a while. “I've thought about our life from beginning to end and I can't blame you for more than I blame myself. If you give little you get less, though of some things I got more than I deserved. Also, it takes me a long time to learn. Some people have to make the same mistake seven times before they know they've made it. That's my type and I'm sorry. I'm also sorry I stopped sleeping with you. I was out to stab myself, so I stabbed you. Who else was so close to me? Still I've suffered in this prison and I'm not the same man I once was. What more can I say, Raisl? If I had my life to live over, you'd have less to cry about, so stop crying.”
“Yakov,” she said, when she had wiped her eyes with her fingers, “I brought this confession paper here so they would let me talk to you, not because I want you to sign it. I don't. Still, if you wanted to what could I say?
Should I say stay in prison? What I also came to tell you is maybe not such good news. I came to say I've given birth to a child. After I ran away I found out I was pregnant. I was ashamed and frightened, but at the same time I was happy I was no longer barren and could have a baby.”
Should I say stay in prison? What I also came to tell you is maybe not such good news. I came to say I've given birth to a child. After I ran away I found out I was pregnant. I was ashamed and frightened, but at the same time I was happy I was no longer barren and could have a baby.”
There's no bottom to my bitterness, he thought.
He flailed at the wooden walls of the pen with both fists. The guard sternly ordered him to stop, so he beat himself instead, his face and head. She looked on with shut eyes.
Afterwards, when it was over, except what was left of his anguish, he said, “So if you weren't barren, what was the matter?”
She looked away, then at him. “Who knows? Some women conceive late. With conception you need luck.”
Luck I was short of, he thought, so I blamed her.
“Boy or girl?” Yakov asked.
She smiled at her hands. “A boy, Chaiml, after my grandfather.”
“How old now?”
“Almost a year and a half.”
“It couldn't be mine?”
“How could it be?”
“Too bad,” he sighed. “Where is he now?”
“With Papa. That's why I went back, I couldn't take care of him alone any more. Ah, Yakov, it's not all raisins and almonds. I've gone back to the shtetl but they blame me for your fate. I tried to take up my little dairy business but I might just as well be selling pork. The rabbi calls me to my face, pariah. The child will think his name is bastard.”
“So what do you want from me?”
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